


Of coming back together

by FrozenBrownie



Series: My hands in yours [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1926, A+ prisoner interrogation methods, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Albus, Canon Gay Relationship, EPIC LOVESTORY, Gay Disaster Albus Dumbledore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ministry of Magic, Torture, no dark Albus I swear, nothing gory but magical torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenBrownie/pseuds/FrozenBrownie
Summary: After Albus has had his Ministry shackles removed by Gellert, things have been bound to go down the drain faster than either of them was prepared for. Albus gets kidnapped by Aurors for questioning, but he is Gellert's king, and Merlin help those who dare disrespect his king.





	Of coming back together

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, Alexandra here!  
> This is the second installment in the [My hands in yours](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1334758) series to which [Of being pulled apart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212277) is the first part, so this piece of heavy hurt with lots of comfort afterwards won't make any sense without having read it first. Yes, this is the long promised continuation that you guys begged for, so here I am, delivering. Enjoy, folks, and heed the tags! I'm glad for all corrections you have to add in the comment section.   
> Come scream with me about Fantastic Beasts, Harry Potter, the MCU (Stucky in particular) and history stuff on [FrozenBrownie on tumblr](https://dreamingbrownie.tumblr.com/)

On a crisp winter night at the turn of November falling soundlessly into December, Gellert let loose in his attention for a single minute and payed the prize for it instantly. A dozen cracks in the middle of Charles’ bridge in Prague, two hands made for fitting into one another were forcefully pulled apart, _screams_ , and the glittering night was torn apart by blinding curses. He dodged them all, trying to get to Albus without a single care about the brutality so often preached against by himself. Innocent people dropped dead left and right or went down seriously injured, a child or two fell into the river beneath and no five minutes later, all was silent again. The head of a statue, one of many that lined the bridge, had been cut off and rolled against his right foot, stopping there.   
  
No Albus. Bodies and living, breathing Muggles were littering the ground like stray stones, as if something had rained upon the street heavily and killed completely at random. Shockwaves pulsed through him while he looked around wildly, enhanced by the magic that made him Albus’ husband in front of every godforsaken court in the entire damn world. It was agony, being separated so soon again, but this was _nothing_ compared to what Albus must have been feeling. The shimmer of metal bands had caught his wide-eyed stare, one with the movement of ducking, rolling, running, but this time, his shackles had had a chain too. It still rattled in Gellert’s ears, minutes later, when his shadow Vinda came hurrying to him, Miss Goldstein short on her heels.   
  
Too late. Damn it all to hell, he had been too slow again.   
“Back to Nurmengard, ladies,” he barked with anger boiling under his skin, making his control short and slippery. “We’re getting some supplies and afterwards, you’ll have the privilege to visit Great Britain.”  
“You have a travel ban there, Sir. It would be unwise to just barge in, even if your friend-“  
“Misses Goldstein, you’re on holiday leave until I need you back. Go visit your pitiful sister, if you must, and tell her what happened here. I’m sure it will lighten your fragile heart.” His sharp voice alone was enough to scare off his most trusted followers, that girl being no exception. Her baby blue eyes grew large as plates and her wand-hand shook, though nothing came in reply. Only a short nod, hurried, shocked, intimidated. She’d run off to New York exactly as he had told her, no doubt, and maybe the most dense idiots of MACUSA would finally start seeing things in a different light if Porpentina Goldstein dropped word about it.   
“Vinda?”  
“Coming, Sir.”  
  
“You see,” he said to her in fluent French a bit later, not once stopping in his tracks through his own castle, “This is exactly what I warn the rows of society about on a daily basis. They nod and smile and clap like well-taught school children, but they don’t _understand_ , do they? Nobody is as high on the list of every single bloody set of incompetent Aurors I know of, as picked upon, as threatened by the highest puppet masters on their rotten stages as we are.” Reaching the second story, Gellert sauntered into his walk-in closet without slowing down and shrugged off his dirtied overcoat. It was of a midnight blue that Albus particularly adored on him, with buttons shining silver, now sporting some blood drops that had landed there unintentionally. He could still smell Prague’s intoxicating odor on the heavy fabric, coal laced with the unique bite of magic overloaded, over-indulged in. “Make sure the house elves get this completely spotless again, would you?”  
  
“Certainly, Sir. Maybe you should call together a meeting then. Go to Prague again, we still have the most supporters there and they will know the place where it happened. It’s a well-known bridge with a heavy history, isn’t it?” Gellert turned to her impatiently, made the Elder Wand hover in thin air and yanked out another coat. Grey, this time, a bit dull maybe, but at least you wouldn’t see the scratches of a battle so much.   
“What a pretty idea, the culprit going back to the place where he committed murder. How stupid do you think me, Vinda? We don’t have time to lose, the pigs of the British Ministry will torture Albus the minute they have shoved him into some dark cell and he has our blood vial. It’s charmed against being taken off violently, but that doesn’t include the case of his neck being parted from his fetching head.” A heartbeat passed, a second, a minute. Vinda stepped out of his way dutifully so that he could roam on. Even in her submissive state, no doubt sensitive to his mood, the urge to speak her mind was clear as day. He didn’t have to prod her. The speed with which he took two steps at a time to get up to his attic where the most powerful and important objects were stored was enough.   
“They wouldn’t dare, I believe. You, Sir, running right after him is exactly what such people plan on. To catch both of you, they could have never even dreamed of, and Mister Dumbledore’s capture was a lucky strike in the first place. He was walking at the left side of the street where they apparated, it would have been you, otherwise.”  
  
“That was the longest speech I have ever heard you give in one breath.” She stopped in front of a door she knew she wasn’t allowed to cross and smiled in that subdued way of hers, obviously pleased by the almost-compliment. Keeping her hands loosely clasped over her waist belt that would transform into a whip at will, she bowed her head.   
“Thank you, Sir. There still is the problem of guessing where those _pigs_ will bring your esteemed husband, of course. The ministry itself seems unlikely as they won’t risk a raid of dangerous proportion, as you will no doubt rain down on them.” And that made him re-consider at last. True words, indeed, as loathe as he was to admit it. The door handle in hand, he hesitated.   
“Azkaban, then? Would they dare? To put such a brilliant mind under the hungry scrutiny of Dementors?” Vinda chose her next words very carefully, if her concentrated face and downcast eyes was anything to go by.   
“Even the Brits must have some sort of _etiquette_ , haven’t they?”  
“I’m afraid not. But if you’re so keen on strategy, we might just as well send word to our trusted acquaintances in the British Ministry.”  
Well. He had already pulled larger stunts than an infiltration of the heart of Great Britain. 24 hours, and not a minute more, would he wait for word from London.  
“Very well, Sir.”  
  
                                                                                                                                               ~*~_~*~  
  
Four blank walls, a bucket, a chair. His chair. Chains. Nothing that would have deserved being called a bed. No window. Albus' left index finger twitched.  
 _Ingredients of Polyjuice. Fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies, leeches, powdered Bicorn horn, shredded Boomslang skin and a hair of the person I would want to turn into. Turn? Transform? True transformation? Voice changed, appearance of body changed, not clothing. No. Would require an additional spell. Who knows what a stranger you turn into wears daily? Liability. Need to discuss this with Gellert.  
_ Voices slipped through the iron door. Everything in here was iron, made to suppress magic. The metal bands around his wrists, his feet and his head were stronger, this time. His entire hand twitched.  
 _Uses of dragon blood. I need to write to Nicholas again soon. Perenelle turned sixhundred and... nine years yesterday! The day before that? What time is it? Ingredients of Polyjuice. Fluxweed, knotgrass...  
_ “What on earth is he doing in there? Abraham, you incompetent ass, haven't I given you orders to watch him very, very closely?!"  
“I think he's praying, Sir. Lips moving, some Latin gibberish, but no magic detectable."  
Albus smiled a tiny bit. No magic detectable. Good.  
“Listen, you ape! This is Albus Dumbledore we're talking about. Headmaster Dippet warned us very thoroughly this morning not to bend a hair on his thrice damned head and if Dumbledore does anything, anything at all in there, I'll be forced to execute him or I'm gonna lose my damned head myself. So you make him stop talking Latin, _the language of magic_ , right the fuck now or I'll present you to the Minister as the one responsible for our entire prison having been blown up. Am I quite clear?"  
“Quite, Sir."  
A grunt, the shuffling of nervous feet and somebody walked away quickly with too much force in his steps.  
 _Uses of dragon blood. Potential fire accelerant. Dark love potion ingredient if only used in three drops, stirred four times counter-clockwise. Oven cleaner. Makes some..._  
The door opened, creaking.  


Keeping his eyes closed because it was pitch black in his little cell anyway, Albus waited, concentrating on each breath. Would it begin anew now?  
“Where is Gellert Grindelwald?"  
 _And how in the world should I know... Uses of dragon blood: twelve. There are no coincidences in magic, that's why. Potential fire acc...  
_ “Where. Is. Grindelwald?!"  
 _Fire accelerant. Dark love potion ingredient. Not even necessary regarding Gellert. - Wrong thought. Three drops...  
_ “Alright you freak, you might think yourself so high above us mere mortals, but lemme tell you that, you're not the first prisoner who swore not to talk but whom we broke anyway. You're not different. You're not."  
 _Yes. Yes, I am. You'd be disgusted at just how different I am from you.  
_ The silence stretched on, Albus kept his eyes closed just to tip off the blubbering Auror who apparently had nobody else to talk to in his respectable life. Concentration was key. Losing control was not an option.  
 _Uses of dragon blood. Fluxweed... No. Potential fire accelerant. Dark-  
_ A hand too fast for its own good intended to hit him square in the face, but instead of producing the characteristic slapping sound of skin on skin, a shield so blindingly white that he felt it crackle deep into his core flared to life and propelled the Auror right into the concrete wall behind him. His head smacked onto it with a sickening crunch, a smear of blood was left where he slid down, unconscious or dead. Albus couldn't tell. It was too dark in here.  
“Gellert will rip you all apart,” he declared very quietly, “and there is nothing I can do about it. For that, I am sorry.”  
 _Uses of dragon blood. Potential fire accelerant, very impractical, Newt would hate me for the mere discovery. Must not tell him. Dark love potion ingredient..._  
  
                                                                                                                                                          ~*~_~*~  
  
They were becoming impatient within what felt like a day. Seeing a familiar silhouette step through the iron door shot a spark of irritation through his careful reciting of each and every letter he had ever written to Gellert in their youth; only mentally, of course. The man awarded with a pin marking him as Head of the Aurors was tall and thin, had a mop of light brown hair with ginger touches to it, blazing blue eyes and freckles. Newt Scamander's older brother, of all people... He could only guess what had happened to the old Head Auror. The only testament to Albus’ appreciation of the gesture to send him the Head of Department was a slightly wider smile. He would have bowed his head in thanks, had it not been held firmly to the hard chair.  
“Professor Dumbledore, you have a visitor. I advise you to cooperate."  
“I advise them not to try their hand against me," he replied calmly and turned his focus visibly towards the figure lying crumpled next to the door. Theseus Scamander doubled back, shock clear on his face. Fury passed over it, sharp and dangerous, not far from the expression Newt wore when confronted with a tortured or captured animal.  
“How in the world did you do that? That's Abraham, isn't it?" And there it was, for the first time. Fear. Never in his entire school years with five excellent NEWTs upon graduation nor in his career in the ministry had Theseus looked at him with such horror. It hurt, more than expected. Albus exhaled slowly.   


“I did nothing, Auror Scamander. Your men have bound me as firmly to this rather uncomfortable chair as they were able to. Auror Abraham yelled at me when advised to make me stop _thinking_ and struck at me because my staying silent infuriated him. It was some unintended magic reacting on my side, I'm afraid, much like a child before they learn to control and channel their core in Hogwarts."  
Theseus let out a long-suffering sigh and made the dead Auror float out the door, stepping aside in the process. He pinched his nose.  
“How on earth... Alright, you still got a visitor, I've got my orders and I need my fifth coffee today. Somebody will have to extract that memory from you later to declare you innocent of murder. We really don't need that on our plate, both of us." So he still respected his former professor. Albus closed his eyes again instead of bowing his head, keeping silent. His concentration was faltering and he couldn't afford that.

_Third theory of human transformation. No transformation is permanent unless gone wrong or induced by blood curse, including animagi. Proven wrong by Gellert twenty years ago. Theory: you just need to put enough force behind an involuntary transformation spell, which theoretically makes it dark, no matter the academical order of said spell. Makes it all bloody complicated to reverse. It would be worth writing a paper..._  
  


“Bring her in, I'm off to the café. Ten minutes and not a second more." Theseus stepped out of the cell with a wave of his wandless hand, immediately replaced by the short, sharp sounds of a woman’s shoes on concrete. Albus’ eyes flew back open. Through the open door swept a flurry of crimson fabric that wrapped around the delicate figure of Professor Minerva McGonagall, completely unimpressed by the men who ushered her in. She wore the same stern look she applied on second years, kept the hemline of her patterned skirt from touching the white floor and obviously lacked her wand. Her right hand was grasping restlessly at something that wasn't there.

_No. No, not her. Not her! Dippet, you idiot!_

“Albus!" she greeted him in a tone matching her look, utterly unfazed by the door closing behind her.  
“Minerva." Back to remembering potion ingredients, then. Ongoing theories on magical transformation were too hard to concentrate on in her presence. _Worrying indeed_. Lacking a chair or a wand to conjure one, she was forced to stand opposite him. For some long seconds filled with unimaginable pain and regret, she observed him from head to toe, at a lack of words. Albus didn’t know what to say in his defense either, for he deserved everything the Ministry threw at him short of torture. That, he really wasn’t looking forward to, but he couldn’t give them the answers they sought. Where Gellert was hiding right now, he had no idea, neither had he ever been to castle Nurmengard and therefore wasn’t gifted with the knowledge of its exact coordinates. But to tell Minerva all of that would have meant to interrupt the never-ending stream of _Fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies, leeches…_ Still, her gaze made it hard not to speak.   
“They have kept you in a poor condition, I must say, but I have expected worse. What nonsense are they holding against you?”  
“Don’t you read the _Prophet_?” he responded airily before he could stop himself, “It must be all over the front page by now.” Minerva bristled like an offended pigeon with the thrust out chest to match the image.   
“I never read the _Prophet._ ”  
_Good girl._   
No. She was over twenty. Not so much a girl anymore than a worried, strict woman who tried desperately to appear older than she was.   
_Fear of losing authority.  
Shut up, Gellert._  
  
“Headmaster Dippet sent you, am I right in that assumption?” She opened her mouth immediately to answer, though she seemingly reconsidered and cleared her throat, looking down to her feet briefly. Nervous, then. Of whom? The Aurors? Him?   
“All of us miss your presence dearly in Hogwarts and from the depths of my heart I can assure you that nobody of the staff thinks you guilty of murder. Young Mister Morson’s family has long since been informed, they mourn him deeply but his death was the result of a foolish breach of the rules. It never should have happened, of course, but any of us could have found him dead, had Mister Lykes not come to you that night. You are innocent of all charges possibly pressed upon you.” That last sentence she uttered louder than necessary and with her head turned just the slightest bit to the door. To hear her speak with such clarity, such deep-rooted belief in his complete innocence made his heart give a painful lurch and he felt sick with shame. Nobody knew him truly up there in the north of Scotland, not really, not at all. He was good at what he did with passion; teaching, taking care of children because he would never have some of his own. Being good at something and living for it, of course, were two very different things. Maybe he could, one day. Live for Hogwarts if not for himself. He set his focus upon the polished floor and exhaled.   
_Ingredients of polyjuice. Fluxweed, knotgrass, Gellert’s white hair…  
_  
A minute passed, counted by the beats of his heart. The reciting helped to tone down the wild turmoil of his trapped magic, but nothing of this would hold as a permanent solution, he knew. Minerva’s shoes were of a deep purple, looked of the muggle sorts and most likely weren’t custom-fitted. She came near him with two short steps that resulted in a banging on the door. Again, she ignored the outer world.   
“Your unnecessary remorse speaks of your character, Albus. I know what they say about you here and I’m also well aware that at least half of it is most likely dragon dung. Headmaster Dippet wants you back as soon as possible, but however long it will take to convince these-“ She stopped herself, reconsidering. “-to convince the Aurors of the truth, you will always have a place at Hogwarts.”  
_Thank you._  
“I deserve nothing of the sorts, but thank you, Minerva.” He smiled sadly at her because either he wasn’t getting out of here alive or Gellert would make sure of destroying every possibility for him to go anywhere else. In return, he got one of the rare smiles that Professor McGonagall (and he really should have gotten used to referring to her by her title a long time ago) ever showed. Following an old habit, or perhaps in a last, wrongly placed show of respect towards him, she curtsied shortly. A goodbye, then.   
The door flew open once more and banged into the wall, a spell clear as sunlight fizzed right pass her. It hit Albus square in the chest, missing the hidden blood pendant by an inch or less. His heart stopped, it _stopped_ , and suddenly he was overwhelmed by an urge to scream about the hypocrisy of the Ministry at the top of his lungs. Minerva whirled around before the man the spell had originated from could drag her from the cell backwards, he got her brutally none the less. Albus wanted to torture the stranger right then and there, make him see pain like he never had before in his pitiful, ordinary life, to throw him at Gellert’s feet as an early Christmas present.   
_You were right, you still are, it’s only your methods I despise and I’m no better than you. Do it. Do it do it do it!_  
  
“WHERE IS GELLERT GRINDELWALD?”  
A scream erupted from his seized lungs, Albus pulled at his metal restrictions as hard as his tired limbs possibly could. Magic was dripping from his fingertips, thick like syrup, and Minerva’s eyes were oh so wide, _so wide-_  
_Given in. Why. Why?! Concentration broken, Veritas spell, possibly dark – no – help, fuck, keepyourdamnedmouthshutyouincompetentbastard-  
_“I don’t know! I DON’T!”  
“Ah, it worked. Thank you, Miss McGonagall, we won’t need your assistance any longer.” In the doorway half blocked by the Auror who was obviously blazing mad about Albus accidently murdering a colleague, Theseus Scamander appeared, calm and smooth as ice. The façade broke briefly, however, when he looked Albus in the eye with his hands hidden in both his pockets.   
“It’s _Professor_ McGonagall,” Albus spat and only just refrained from ending on a particularly nasty insult. He had a dozen in mind, right next to the dizzying panic. How could he have let his guard down, how could he have been fooled so? Loving people, Aberforth had told him a long time ago, would only ever bring a man like himself heartache and a liability. Bloody fool that he was, he had been right, the old goat-herder, drinking whiskey like water after Ariana – after Ariana -   
“Are you still with me, Professor? I’m truly sorry for such methods and I’m sure that my brother will never speak with me again if he ever catches wind of it. He’s dear to you, isn’t he?”  
“Yes,” Albus said without missing a beat, “Sadly.”  
“Sadly?” Theseus conjured a simple chair with a flick of his wand as if he’d be settling down for tea, but instead of sitting properly on it, he turned it around and sat on it the wrong way around. Albus bit down on his own tongue hard enough to make the pain shoot right into his head; it was clearing. The spell would wear off shortly.   
_Ingredients of fucking Polyjuice potion: fluxweed, useless if not cut within the hour of using it, but who ever writes something useful in a school book anyway; knotgrass, I hate potions, fucking hell this hurts, I need to get out of here, INGREDIENTS OF POLYJUICE-  
_The twitch in his left hand got worse, he noted duly. A wand would have been very practical indeed.   
  
“Professor Dumbledore!”  
_No!_  
“Loving people is a weakness that I’ve always been prone to. I never wanted to teach you this and I’m sorry for your methods, too, because either you or I will not get out of here alive. And I don’t need the bloody Sight for that.”  
A deep rumble made the very walls vibrate in protest as if on cue and Scamander glanced at the door, but nobody came to get him. Or them.   
“Are you expecting somebody to rescue you, Professor Dumbledore?”  
_Does this bullshit need the addressing of the recipient to work?_  
“My husband,” he admitted between clenched teeth and balled his fists to stop the sparks from slipping through the restraints. Torture. Damn it all to hell, how he hated to be tortured.   
Theseus’ brows shot up to his hairlines, another hit to the barriers made the walls groan and the floor creak.  
“Husband. As in, a man bound to you? Now that’s just… ah, I didn’t know what to expect in your answers, to be entirely honest.” Albus snorted and bit his tongue again, drawing blood this time.   
“Yes, my husband, you bigoted boy, bound to me in life and death, my only equal and the one most likely to overthrow your foul institution.” Holding up his hands in mock surrender, Theseus shrugged and stood up, clearly too concerned to keep sitting on a conjured chair that wouldn’t hold longer than five minutes anyway.   
“Hey, my brother likes his fascinating beasts more than humans, which I sometimes really can relate to, and we’re living in the twentieth century. You having a husband at all is not what concerns me, Professor, it’s your rather nasty attitude under a powerful spell that reveals only the truth. Would you care to elaborate on the specifics of said overthrowing of our very trusted system?”  
Albus felt the Ministry wards go down like a bucket of cold water on bare skin. He was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, which made his imprisonment all the more ridiculous and embarrassing, he was tied to the very magic holding this hole together. It felt like being ripped in two, penetrated by needles all over, cut open. He let out a deep groan of agony rumbling low in his chest.   
“In your shoes, I’d get out _now_ , Mister Scamander.”  
  
There passed a moment of silence that he used to beat his self-control back where it belonged. No student of his needed to see him crumpling under the weight of two dozen wards partly tied to him personally, painful in their falling because of the force behind the blows. And even less did he wish to be observed simply giving in. Exploding.   
Theseus Scamander observed him, clearly torn, for a long while before he finally made his decision in squared shoulders and a hart set to his jaw.   
“I’m not leaving you behind. Protocol demands to take important political prisoners somewhere safe in the case of an attack.”  
“You live for protocols, don’t you?” Albus snapped and recoiled as far as possible when sudden touches to his arms and shoulders made his magic want to flare to life. Fortunately, neither did he have the concentration to conjure another shield nor could he move far, or at all, for that matter. All his hissing and all his warnings were ignored while he felt Gellert coming nearer, probably bypassing the elevators entirely and flying down the stairways instead.   
“Calm down, Professor, you’re hyperventilating. I know that those shackles hurt if you try to fight them, so don’t. Fighting only makes it worse. I wasn’t the one who invented them, I’m sorry.”  
_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._   
Albus’ right hand shot out as soon as he was free and tore off the necklace that had slipped forth from under Theseus’ cream-colored shirt. His shocked expression would be a thing to think about later, to hate himself for thoroughly and lock away in a pensieve. The mere thought of Hogwarts was enough to turn the oddly raw claw of some animal into a portkey, but he pressed it back into the younger man’s hands before he could be whisked away himself.   
“It’s for your own good, believe me.”  
And with that, he was alone in his cell, still tied to that damned chair. He could only pray that Minerva had made it back out in time.   
  
She had not. Her staccato steps echoed from the walls outside the cell, approaching. Albus had never been a man prone to falling into panic attacks, Gellert had had enough of those for both of them, but in this moment, he really felt like screaming. Not a second later, she appeared again in the open doorway and he wanted to yell at her to get out, to save herself while she still could. Minerva McGonagall, of course, wasn’t a woman you just ordered around.   
“Do I want to know what exactly the relation between your unjust imprisonment and a raid on the Ministry by Gellert Grindelwald is?”  
“I don’t think so,” he said too fast with his eyes clenched shut against the pain. The metal bands holding him firmly in place burned even worse with one of them open, probably detecting the danger of losing a prisoner. Bloody hell, the first thing he would do back in safety and restored to all his positions was to banish those monstrosities. Minerva stepped near him again, cautious like a cat, and he raised a hand to make her stop. “Don’t. Please, for your own safety, don’t touch me. I’m not stable, Minerva. Haven’t been for a good three weeks now.”  
Her eyes narrowed, obviously doing the math correctly.   
“That student’s death threw you so drastically off centre? Is that why you ran away instead of waiting for help?”  
“Something like that. Restraining one’s magic should be highly illegal, especially on very powerful wizards.”  
“Now you’re just flattering yourself, Albus.” As she drew her wand that she somehow had gotten back after having been dragged out of the cell like a disobedient child, Albus inhaled sharply, fear made his ears ring. “A wand! Minerva, are you mad to bring a wand to me?”  
She bent over him with unfazed professionalism and started casting diagnostic spells first over him, then over the dreadful instruments of his torture. That the whole Ministry was shaking in the effort of just keeping the walls up right, she didn’t even seem to notice.   
“Whoever clad you in chains must be, and I will hear no further about it. Will you just stay still? Something has to unlock these. I do hope it’s not the magical signature of the person who threw you in here in the first place…”   
Slowly, but very surely, the pain got too much to bear. He was clawed at from the inside, self-control slipped from his fingertips like wet ropes and left them marred in the process. Maybe that redness was just him holding onto the damned chair, and when that became too much because of all the sharp metal edges, Minerva’s right arm was an anchor even better suited to hold onto for dear life. She shot him an irritated look, as short as a blink, and continued working.   
“To overcharge anything intended for breaking should do the trick,” Albus murmured, letting his head fall back. _I can’t let Gellert be the one to free me again._ If just he would have had his own wand back… On the other hand, to cast a simple Lumos would have blinded him now.   
  
The wrist constriction broke. Everything suddenly got eerily quiet, the creaks and groaning blows against the Ministry’s foundations had stopped. Anticipation crackled in the air charged as lightnings, even the fabric of his wrinkled suit on his skin seemed too much all at once.   
“Minerva,” he warned her carefully so as not to startle her, but she didn’t stop. Was he the only human in the world so connected with the magic all around him, did she not feel it at all?   
“Minerva!” he tried again, more urgently this time, to which she held up a hand that made him shut up immediately. She just had this aura of authority, had probably been born with it. Crouched low in front of him, a searing heat shot out of her wand and right into his left ankle. Metal smoked and clicked, a terrible stench filled the air, she wrinkled her nose.   
“My apologies, but you probably knew that this would hurt already, didn’t you?”  
“You’re much gentler than the last person cracking my chains was, go on, please.” Inhale, hold, exhale.   
_Polyjuice. Fluxweed… leeches? Gellert’s hair. No. Somebody’s hair. He’s tearing apart the Ministry, making good on his promise. The Ministry will die for this, my love. Twelve uses of Dragon Blood. Oven cleaner._  
  
His second leg was suddenly free, Minerva calmly got up and was about to start searing through the last restraint as well but Albus pushed her away almost forcefully. Magic drowned him wholly, tingling, hot, cold, angry. It burned away the last remains of Theseus’ Veritas spell, tore through him as if something had broken a dam.   
“Get out!” he choked on the verge of losing it entirely, _scared scared scared Gellert_ , and Minerva finally complied. Maybe she was scared of him too. She should have been. Her voice sounded far away when she answered, something wooden flaring life and warmth was placed in his lap.   
“I will tell the Headmaster what happened to you. This is unacceptable and none of it your fault. Before everything else – regain your control, Albus, I beg of you. Somehow. Take your time, but never surrender.” She sounded like she would never smile again until he was in his right senses once more, the thought alone drove tears into his eyes. Losing friends had always hurt him more than funerals. The fingers of his free hand found the wand, closing around it in a reflex not far from a child’s; he offered it back at its owner. Worry was clearly visible on her young face while he felt like bursting apart at the seams.   
“Graze the last restraint and get the hell out of here,” he rasped and sighed in relief when she took her wand back without hesitation.   
“Gladly.”  
  
And she did. Albus shot out of that blasted chair like a whip, stumbling right past her; his vision immediately went grey and black at the edges.   
_Keep it in, keep it all in, fluxweed knotgrass leece wings-_  
Over his frantically beating heart, the pendant pulsed in a rhythm not his own. He ran into no-one, the entire prison was abandoned safe for the shut doors behind which people spent their time until prosecution he really didn’t want to know about. Endlessly, it went on and on, until he came to a pitch black staircase. The cold of a Dementor approaching made him shiver. He didn’t have time for that now, dammit. A shadow darker than the summer nights of Scotland appeared every now and then at the very top of those stairs, its breaths were the rattling of iron chains, its fingers mostly hidden in wide black fabric full of holes nothing more than a skeleton.  
Albus neither had a wand nor did he care particularly about it right now.   
Gellert. Gellert’s kisses, the way he smiled when half-way drunk, his white skin under careful hands. _“Will you come with me, Albus?”_  
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  
A large phoenix as white as moonlight burst from his hands thrown forth, blindingly bright, raining sparks, shrieking, calling. Albus turned away his head and desperately wished for Gellert to find him already so that they could end this madness. The Dementor guarding the prison had nowhere to flee, so it was torn into pieces instead. Ripping a shadow apart shouldn’t have left bits of black cloth on the floor, but neither was there a skeleton to be found nor another of those monsters. Albus’ Patronus circled his head, chirping, calling still. He was close to sobbing. Quivering, he bowed before the majestic phoenix and dismissed it thus. How easy it would have been to collapse then and there…   
  
He was without a doubt on the lowest level of the Ministry. The corridors he passed through formed a dungeon in every direction, black as coal, shimmering in certain places when he looked closely, one could easily get lost in here. But again, as in wide, open Europe only until a week ago, the blood vial led him straight to the place Gellert was hiding at. Three levels he had to ascend once he had found the main staircases, and worried of the elevators recognizing his blazing magical signature, he took them all the way to the top. Already he felt less holed up in the ground, being so close to the surface made his heart pound with longing for sunlight. The other part of that was his exhaustion. He briefly pondered to stop at level two and break into Theseus’ office where his wand had most likely been locked away, but the vial pulled way too strongly at him to stop now.   
  
The Auror now dead had thought him praying. Maybe he should have.   
  
Out of the corridor that he knew the Minister Fawley’s office to be in by heart from many, many visits, Gellert’s voice boomed without having been magically enhanced. All on the carpet in front of the offices, paper lay scattered as if a storm had blown through the Department. The doors were all wide open, but the chaos had mostly spared the rooms behind them, it seemed.   
“Gellert!” he called out in the hopes of preventing another death and ground to a halt in front of the Minister’s office. His lungs screamed for air, his hands were still crackling with magic eager to break out, wand or no. Still, the picture before him kicked his heartbeat into his throat. Gellert wore his most dramatic coat of a deep midnight blue that Albus had gifted him in a gesture of gratitude, the Elder Wand dangled loosely in his fingers and his pearl white hair was in complete disorder. But oh, his mismatched eyes… Ablaze with fury, only a fool would have been blind to how in tune Gellert was with his magic. In short, he was breathtaking. And bound to his office chair sat the Minister of Magic Fawley who had underestimated him time and time again, ignored all the signs, the threats, the murmurs of discontent in the magic ranks of all kinds. How ironic it seemed now that a large number of Ministry employees and magical folks alike wanted Albus as their new Minister… It would have been him in that chair. At some point, inevitably.   
  
“Albus,” Gellert breathed as he rushed to embrace him too tightly for comfort. Albus clung to him nevertheless and closed his eyes briefly. The heavenly smell of Gellert’s skin and cologne, that feeling of being protected, loved, cherished…   
“I’m okay, you can stop torturing information out of helpless people now,” he assured his husband more calmly than he felt, hating himself for how unfazed he was of that knowledge. Gellert wasn’t having tea with the Minister bound to his chair and eyes wide with fear. He let go of Albus, checking him over quickly; he still looked so haunted. Albus had never seen him so restless, so fearful. To corner a scared predator never, never was a good idea at all.   
“I told you- I told you!”  
“Yes, I know. But you have to stop now. I never asked for the Ministry to crumble at your feet because of what they did to me, killing people goes against everything I believe in and most of them don’t even have a part in the process of deciding such things.” A look down to his hands was enough to urge him to get out of the Ministry as soon as possible. Swallowing his urge to scream at Gellert instead of coating his hateful fear with a sweet voice, he turned to the Minister and released the rope holding him in place only as an afterthought. Gellert’s sharp intake of breath he ignored for now.   
“And you,” he spat with a finger pointed at the current Minister of Magic, also known as the greatest pain in his ass since Headmaster Black had resigned from his position. Of course he was interrupted.   
“You’re better than this, Albus. I know you.”  
“Know me! Hector, for once in your pointless life, stop playing pretend! You denied Gellert Grindelwald’s presence until I shoved the death certificates of the victims into your face. I spent weeks evaluating the Wizengamot, searching for the corruption I knew was there and entrusted my results to you, weeks and weeks of work. Have you done anything at all to ensure more justice like you promised?” He struggled for air, bottled-up magic made his skin tingle all over and he had to clench his fists to keep it in. To save himself from simply exploding, from letting the frustration take him over.   
  
Gellert tried to take his hand from behind, most likely already with a litany of sweet reassuring words on his sharp tongue. Albus yanked his fingers back. _Not now._ Hector stared at them with an open mouth long enough to catch flies before he found his voice again.   
“Well,” he began as infuriatingly slow as ever and came to his feet, “We might have to vote for a new Chief Warlock of the Gamot. You are guilty of confiding in a known and hunted criminal, escaping a sentence of law enforcement and insulting the Minister of Magic. That might grant you a few years in Azkaban.”  
Albus snorted and took two very intimidating steps towards the desk over which a cup of coffee seemed to have been spilled at least an hour ago. For all the cool attitude of the Minister, he seemed suitably scared. Merlin, he should be.   
“Azkaban, yes, next in line of topics that you’re obviously blind and deaf on. As far as I remember, you told me countless times of Madame Piquery’s stubbornness when it comes to matrimony laws. Not being able to marry the person one loves is nothing short of agony and you said so yourself, while I’m sure you never had in mind all of Britain’s population, because if you did, you undoubtedly would have had another attitude entirely on the topic. You complain about those atrocious American laws, but you’re proud of no prisoner ever having broken out of Azkaban? Who do you think you are, Hector?”  
“A politician,” Gellert contributed drily from behind and took his left hand again, firmly now. “If you want to kill him, go on, I understand entirely. But if you don’t intend to do so, I do think that screaming yourself hoarse in my bedroom will be more contributing to your health than doing so in here.”  
  
_Bloody fucking Polyjuice potion: calmdowncalmdowncalmdown fluxweed, knotgrass-_  
“I don’t WANT to kill people, you hypocrite! And to scream at you, that I should have done years ago!” The first electric blue lightning from his right fist struck a showcase at the far wall right next to the broad, enchanted window in front of which the large desk stood. It seared the top off the flag of Great Britain, making it catch fire immediately. Minister Fawley jumped with a high pitched sound and pointed his wand at Albus which Gellert responded to equally as fast. Albus was trembling from head to toe, his heart seized with pain of the deeper kind. He felt like Ariana must have had all the time, from her early childhood on until her death at only 14 years of age. To have so much power lurking underneath the skin, but trapped, without an outlet, boiling, raging, responding to every emotion…   
_I’m just like her. I’m her._ And the next thought inevitably came. _Will it rip me apart before a stray spell kills me?_  
“Stop me,” he pleaded without voice, his eyes squeezed shut against the bright colors of spells flying. It was the same, exactly the same, Ariana and Aberforth and him and Gellert all over again – he had trusted Hector to a certain extent, no complete simpleton, a good man, mostly – “STOP!” he yelled and lost control.   
  
It was agony. Pain as raw, as bad as a Cruciatus consumed him in mind and body, his voice was ripped from his lungs by a force other than himself. So this was it, this was death. Destruction exploded all around him as he lost conscience of his own doings, his hands weren’t his anymore, his tears belonged to a girl long since dead. Albus fell to his knees and heaved, heaved, breathing, trying to, failing. Somebody sank onto the carpet with a soft thump that echoed in his tingling ears, a burnt stench enveloped him. Smoke clouded his sight, biting in his struggling lungs. Pain on inhaling, pain on exhaling. The well within him emptied with the crashing down of showcases, furniture, paintings, and next thing he knew, darkness washed over him like the tide.   
  
                                                                                                                                                      ~*~_~*~  
  
Gellert held the letter into the sunlight streaming in through the large window, a smile formed on his lips as the clear mountain scape caught his gaze. Oh, he truly always had been the happiest up here. The ink was dry, no longer shiny. His carefully written words disappeared when he folded the paper in two exactly at the middle.   
“Vinda?” he called quietly into the empty salon at which she seemed to appear out of thin air, her finely shaped head subdued just so. “Make sure that this gets to Aberforth Dumbledore, would you? He should be living near Hogwarts in Scotland.”  
“I know where Hogwash is, Sir,” she replied in fluent French, curtsied shortly and disappeared with the letter in her elegant fingers.   
  
Gellert stood and stretched, his shoulders cracking. He wasn’t getting any younger and these days, he felt like he was living two lives. Strolling to the window that covered the entire wall from floor to the high ceiling, he clasped his hands behind his back. He had gotten stiff at his desk, every single centimeter of his neck hurt. But this, right here, was the reason he had decided to build his own castle in the mountains instead of living holed up underground like most people seeking a revolution did. The view was marvelous, snow covered the lush meadows entirely and he would have sunken in up to his hips, had he been so stupid to wander out there unprotected. Oh, he loved the sea for all its turmoil and its unpredictable, untamed waves smelling wonderfully of salt, but this… He inhaled deeply. This was home to him.   
Gellert turned where he stood and sauntered back to his desk. There, next to his letters in order of urgency and importance lay a stack of paper, a manuscript, half way covered by today’s newspapers.  
British Minister Fawley said to resign from office in the coming year after trauma – Who will save Wizarding Great Britain? And underneath:  
Internationally renown Albus Dumbledore disappeared! Who has seen him?  
Gellert took the paper in hand despite him already having read that particular opening article. He snorted. To convince his British acquaintances not to kill the Minister of Magic before he could do even more damage was exhausting and the long ways of communication didn’t contribute to urgent business. Albus wasn’t yet ready to take over.   
Reading that manuscript, however, would most likely always calm Gellert’s frayed nerves. To follow Albus tearing apart the magical law enforcement of his home country and their methods of making prisoners compliant particularly was indeed amusing, and frankly, giving him hope. It would still take some time until he could let his husband out of his sight in good conscience for any prolonged hours and even more until Albus himself would set foot into Hogwarts again. He was healing, finding back to his centre of balance, but slowly. So very, very slowly.   
  
In the end, speaking with him again for nights until morning came had opened Gellert’s eyes on some of his own methods and short-term goals. Change had to be brought, urgently so; Wizarding Britain wasn’t the only country in the world with atrocious laws and a government so outdated, it was laughable, really. But to watch them fall all over themselves now to get their hands on him, and neither Austria nor the Swizz (the Alps in which Nurmengard was known to hide from prying eyes stretched over some proportion of Europe, after all) react impressed by their diplomatic temper tantrums in any manner of speaking was concerning to say the least. The German Empire was breaking apart from within, a far-right party rising to power in the midst of that dreadful devastation of the economy, and Gellert knew Austria’s politicians, muggle and magical alike too well to believe them not to bend over backwards to please in a worst case scenario. In short, he had to be more careful. A violent revolution might have worked just before, during and after the Great War, when the world had been in chaos. Now, however… Things had been thrown into a new order.   
  
He put the papers down. Not today. The press trying to make some outrageous assumptions where Albus could have possibly escaped to for Christmas and New Year had been nice for a good laugh over breakfast this morning, but Gellert refused to bother with those pig-headed idiots on Christmas Eve.   
  
Venturing up the stairs to his bedroom floor in his private quarters to find Albus slipping into a gorgeous crimson robe put a smile on his face after all. Quietly, he remained standing at the balustrade and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. Ah, but Albus was a sight to behold. He had magically made his beautiful auburn hair grow out faster than natural as a spur of the moment decision and kept it at shoulder’s length now, most of the time he wore it in a tail. Gellert had all but forgotten the unruly curls they had both moaned about so much in their youth. Albus was lithe, never had been a broad man, though his shoulders were wider than his waist. The crimson fabric made his blue eyes stand out even more and his movements were sure, deliberate, devoid of the self-hatred that they both fought against on a daily basis. He seemed to be in good spirits.   
“Would you be terribly cross with me if I take that off you again? You’ve got such a nice chest, my dear.” Albus didn’t jump or whirl around, instead he hid an amused grin behind his hair, reaching for a brooch to hold together his cape. It was only for dinner, afterwards he would be too warm from the crackling fire anyway.   
“A bit, yes.”  
  
Gellert unfolded his arms and strolled over to the ridiculously oversized bed, sinking onto the mattress covered by a soft blanket of a light blue that reminded him of Albus’ magic. Well, the one directly coming from his core, unfiltered by a spell, a thought, an intention. They had seen quite a bit of that recently, but it was already shrinking to one or two accidental outbursts daily. He would be ready by the time the Christmas holidays in Hogwarts were over. That, however, was apparently very far from his mind right now indeed. He looked at Gellert with such a fond expression, shaking his head in quiet adoration, to ask of him _not_ to stretch out on the bed like a giant cat would have been a travesty.   
“You’re insatiable, you know that, don’t you?”  
“Only ever for you, Albus.” Said British wizard, in a very British manner, snorted and closed the last button of his cuffs.   
“And a terrible sap on top of it.”  
The button popped, a spark blue as the Austrian winter sky flew to disappear in thin air. Albus wasn’t even finished cursing under his breath when Gellert shot up to his feet, catching both his hands with tender fingers.   
“Breathe. Let me,” he ordered softly and called the offending button back with a flick of his left thumb. Mentally, he recited every single German curse he had ever learned, but he let none of that show on the outside. He drew his wand, his old one because the Elder wand made Albus twitch like a kicked dog, just for the sake of not using too much wandless magic in front of him. Their levels of power had changed, or maybe he had only underestimated Albus all this time. Had it ever come to a serious duel, heavens above… He much preferred not to think about that possible outcome at all.   
The black button sewed itself back on as Albus let out a puff of air without sound. Soothingly, Gellert rubbed tiny circled into his left hand and interlaced their fingers as they had done out of habit after forming the blood pact so long ago. It was tucked firmly into Gellert’s breast pocket right now, but they took turns wearing it. Albus liked to sleep with it as a necklace, charmed not to choke him by random movements of course.   
  
“Alright?”  
“Yes. Fine.” He inhaled deeply into a kiss they shared, not entirely without the hot plea of being granted the wish not to think for a few hours underneath all that love for Gellert. It sometimes overwhelmed him, made him almost recoil and spiral down into something much, much darker than everything Albus harbored these days. Their grip on eachother tightened, arms sneaking around back and shoulders, hands tangling in freshly outgrown hair.   
The old clock down in the salon chimed six. Albus pulled away with more color around his crooked nose than usual, his smile was infatuating. To even pretend that Gellert didn’t want to grant him his every wish, to devour him wholly (again) and never have to keep his hands off him ever again would have been utterly useless. But it was Christmas eve, Creedence was still with Miss Goldstein and Vinda surely would be ready for dinner too shortly. So they stepped apart, hands still clasped together without any intention of letting go.  
“I would like to go to theatre on New Year’s Eve in Vienna. What do you say? Theoretically, we have the decision between the Nutcracker by the Russian National Ballet in the New Opera or-“  
“Let’s do that,” Albus responded a bit too quickly, but his eyes were shining, sparkling with joy. “I’d like that very much.” There was a beat of silence until Gellert lowered his head to drop a kiss on his cheek and tug him towards the staircase.   
“That is absolutely fine with me. You were always brilliant at hiding between Muggles.”  
“And you were an absolute disaster, my dear, and one enjoying it in the process!” Oh, the way Albus laughed at him openly when Gellert only shrugged…  
“But your clothing choices these days follow the height of _any_ fashion I know off. Albus Dumbledore, fashionable genius.”  
“I’d like to have that on my gravestone,” he said more solemnly, taking the first few steps down to the salon. His robe was longer in the back and therefore dragging a bit on the red carpet, it made him appear almost regal. Gellert lowered his head, smiling despite himself.   
  
Yes, they would be fine. Somehow. Someday, maybe. Getting there was the first step to building a better future for all of them, wasn’t it?


End file.
